Somewhere in France
by hearmelaugh
Summary: Somewhere in France, some time in late Autumn. Lavi's sick with the flu, Kanda's out with friends, but a strange fashion decision and the opinions of half of France has them ending up in bed again.


Somewhere in France, some time in late Autumn. Days are growing shorter, scarves are worn longer, and colds are a-catching. None are immune except the dead, and that's hardly a good enough a reason to say goodbye to the beautiful rivers and hills and sunsets and women and men, just because you've got the sniffles.

"'s not th'sniffles! It's definitely pneumonia! I'm going t'dieeee. Yuu-chan! Why're you getting' up!"

Why indeed. It's because there're beautiful rivers and hills and sunsets and women and men, and those alternatives seem a damn sight more pleasant than a red-faced, sniveling red-head, lover status or _non_. Besides, Kanda doesn't want to be struck by this freaky disease from god-knows-where (jungle madness, almost definitely). He looks down at Lavi on the messy bed almost dispassionately, but It's obviously not whole-hearted. "Rot in your own filth."

This is what you get for going to Latin America over summer with your hyper-adventurous parents, and leaving Kanda to stare at those beautiful rivers and hills and sunsets and women and men until they lost their luster (about day two of summer break). Kanda realizes that his lifestyle is predominantly sedentary, but not all of us can have diplomats for parents, and go to posh schools and live in posh houses with posh cooks and and and posh… kitty cats?

(Admittedly, the Bookman family's two cats weren't posh in the slightest. Both shared the surname Hammer, as neither could swim and were in fact rescued from a gunny sack thrown into the river, nearly drowned to death. One was Wee Hammer, a pretty tabby thing with a head for mischief, and Grand Hammer, a swaggering monster of a black cat, seemingly the size of a small panther. Those were their 'official' names, but Wee answered to who's-a-pretty-kitty-then-it's-you-oh-yes-it's-you-ahahaha-awwww, or baby or darling or sweetheart, while Grand answered only telepathic requests by Lavi's mum, and Lavi when he had a tin of cat food open.)

Nope, some of us are common as muck, peasant-stock people. Who don't fall sick during flu season, and probably wouldn't get malaria even if they were to prance in the jungles of Brazil buck-naked.

Class-rivalry. Kanda has issues sometimes. One of them is possibly too good for the other, and he's still struggling to figure out who's who.

Lavi's not completely oblivious to this warfare Kanda commonly wages in his head every time they meet, but… since accepting the slice of Blackforest gateau from Kanda over the counter in the town's little pastry shop, he's been in amorous affection. Diplomats aren't famous for staying rooted to one place, and while he's here, Lavi wants to hang out with Kanda in all the many ways possible (thus the almost natural progression from stalker-at-cakeshop to bed-buddy to lover within this year-and-a-bit since his father got posted here).

Only now he's sick and Kanda seemed to be having his sudden mood swings into hopeless OCD-ness, and wanted nothing to do with the mounds of used tissue paper Lavi's abused and not disposed of properly. In all fairness, he probably shouldn't be such a slacker, especially as this was Kanda's flat he was wallowing in. But! Where's the pity! For the sickly!

Where's the love! For the Lavi!

(Probably hidden under all them snotty tissues, you dirty scallywag).

Kanda sighs, because while he's mean, he isn't unkind. He swats Lavi's grabby hands away, and steps clear off the bed. "Dinner, idiot. I need to cook it. Call your mother and tell her you're staying the night."

Because no way Kanda will be hauling your pitiful ass all the way back to your place. He has street cred to maintain, merci beaucoup. But he will look after your pitiful ass, because this is what love entails, o mon _dieu_.

In his bright, feverish mind, Lavi considers this another win for the British over the French. Kiss me, Harvey!

* * *

><p>In order to enable co-habitation between Kanda and Lavi (polar opposites extraordinaire), rules were drawn up and enforced by sexual contact. The defendant is guilty unless proven innocent in the court of Kanda, and the penalty ranges in severity according to the crime. Lesser sentences involve no oral sex for weeks at a stretch, more serious sentences can involve the plaintiff being tied to the bed and made to bear with delayed orgasm, for ages at a time.<p>

It's not wholly effective, because Lavi still discards his dirty socks two inches to the side of the laundry basket.

It's not wholly effective, but that's the way they both like it.

Anyways.

Kanda is responsible for the kitchen and general cleanliness, Lavi looks after laundry and the loo. And part of Lavi's responsibilities included laying out Kanda's clothes for the day after, since he was usually the one to blame for wrecking 'em the night before.

(Okay, maybe not _wholly_ to blame.)

Illness is not a good reason to abstain from doing your duty. Dismemberment would be a different matter, but dismemberment isn't what they are being faced with right now.

So in a sickly daze Lavi blindly picks out clothes for Kanda to wear while the other is showering, before climbing back onto the bed and under the covers. At some point in the night, Kanda had put a hot water bottle by Lavi's feet. By this time in the morning, it offers no more warmth but for the thought that at some point in the night Kanda had gotten up, worried over Lavi, heated water and brought this back to place at his feet. That is, it offers sufficient warmth. He falls asleep again quickly, and Kanda quietly comes out to get dressed for a day of out-hanging (oui?) with le Marie and la Le(nalee).

When Lavi wakes up, there will be a bowl of chicken soup, with an upturned plate covering it to keep it warm. The words 'Eat up' are scrawled on Lavi's right hand, so that he won't forget, and they are written in indelible Indian ink, so that Lavi doesn't think Kanda's gone too soft.

When Kanda brawls his way through a rough kids' game of soccer, he is greeted with a look of blatant shock on Lenalee's face. "Kanda-kun!"

What. He doesn't have blood smeared on his shoes. "What?" He looks down, almost self-conscious. Today's outfit isn't what he would term his usual wear, consisting of a lot more layers and a lot more of colours-not-black than he was accustomed to. But this is what Lavi had laid out, and on pain of death these are the clothes he will stand by. A little huffily, he throws the end of one scarf over his shoulder. _Merde_. On days when he relents and actually meets his friends, he can't understand what possesses him to keep them. "What," he snaps, feeling more ashamed by the moment.

"You should have stayed at home," intones Marie gravely.

Oh, yeah? What would you know? You're _blind_. Kanda sulks. "You were the ones who asked me out. It's not my fault if you change your bloody minds."

"No," the older boy shakes his head, looking stern, but smiling slightly. "It's Lavi. So far he's posted on Facebook and Twitter about how sick and miserable he is, and how he gets no love."

But! You're blind! To the best of his knowledge, there was no such thing as Braille via the internet!

Lenalee catches his look of angry confusion, and rests a gentle hand on his arm. He can't feel it, because the coat he is wearing is ill-fitting. This may be because it belongs to Lavi, who is minutely larger. Even being left hanging on the coat rack all through the night hadn't sapped from it its intrinsic warmth (the sort one associates with things one is fond of, no matter how secretly). Kanda feels at home in this jacket, and it's a hard-won feeling. "Lavi's also texted half of Southern France to moan, Kanda. We _all_ think you should have stayed at home."

And if those clothes aren't some subtle cry for help, Lenalee doesn't know what is. When Kanda is busy discussing tactics with Marie, she snaps a discreet picture of him in his ensemble and texts it to the other half of the South of France, the purpose being to illustrate how relationships change a man. Sometimes for the better, sometimes…

For the warmer. A sharp wind stirs up when Kanda finally decides to head home, making everything in its path cold and brittle. With surprising ease Kanda unknots his scarf, tossing it at her. "Don't you join that idiot in being sick too, or I will _never_ make peanut butter cups for you _ever_ again."

Marie wonders what he would have gotten if he had shivered like a lovely lady, and the thought almost makes him laugh. He treats Kanda to a slice of carrot cake to bring home to lapin, the waiting idiot. They both kiss Kanda goodbye, Kanda walks into the wind, and Marie and Lenalee have fun.

* * *

><p>Lavi's red hair, the only part visible (the rest hidden under blankets), looks like autumn leaves that have gotten lost, entering through closed windows to find refuge on his bed, thinks Kanda. And like with leaves, Kanda wants to rake them through. He dumps his bag on the sofa, the cake in the fridge, but keeps the coat on. It's body-warm, now, and body-warmth is what Lavi needs.<p>

"Oi. Get up. How long are you going to lie there and be useless for?"

"Ff'ever," a voice replies most hoarsely. Then, with gentle rustling (like church mice getting ready to creep out and pay alms) the blanket is drawn down, and Lavi's red and splotchy face is made available for world-viewing. It is quite the saddening sight, and were Kanda a better lesser man, he'd have melted for that look right… "Welcome back, Yuu-chan." Yep. Right now.

But Kanda is Kanda. He pinches Lavi's cheek, and twists. "Sit up. Look at what you've made me wear. And repent for the shit you've put on Facebook and that."

Argh. His face. Argh. Where will the pretty that Kanda finds himself drawn to so much be? There won't be much of it left, in amongst the splotches of pale and blooms of rushing blood red to Lavi's cheek. O wow ow, you won't love me in the morning anymore, you bastard. He does sit up, though, mound of pillows he had stacked on top of himself falling away this way and that, enough fallen behind his back to lend some support. The bowl of chicken soup had provided much needed sustenance, but he's not tried walking yet. He suspects his knees would be a-knocking. He blinks until his vision stops swimming, and he takes in Kanda's modeling of hobo chic.

Lavi's laughter is interjected by the coughing up of phlegm, yuck. Grab a tissue, scumbag. Kanda throws a box at him, and tries to remember why he was supposed to find this more enrapturing than (all together now) the beautiful rivers and hills and sunsets and women and men. Then he remembers this body-warm jacket that he's wearing and observes his baggiest t-shirt that Lavi is wearing, and suddenly there is sense.

Hrmmm. "Y'look like me on a real bad day, baby." Interjects with a polite cough into a fist, interjected by a much less polite scavenge for a tissue to wipe the phlegm off le fist. "Except there's no scarf, 'nd I'm so not me if I've not got a scarf on."

Well, then, Lenalee has a surprise for you.

As does Kanda. "Doesn't matter," he has decided this in his head and now he is imparting this holy knowledge to you. Smooth as silk he shrugs off this borrowed coat he's got on, and slides it over Lavi's shoulders. Fingers quick and nimble scurry up from waistline to Adam's apple, doing up the clasps, until Lavi's trapped in this warm cocoon of fabric and body-warm and the scent of brittle-ing wind and Kanda.

Maneuvering awkwardly, he sniffs at the cuffs with a curious nose, before he looks at Kanda with an accusatory smile. "Carrot cake. You're a star!"

How little you know. Perhaps it's Marie you should be forming a deep and lasting relationship with, huh?

"Did you eat the meds I left you?"

A sheepish sideways glance. "Er. Yeah. But then I sortof threw up int'your dustbin, so 'm not sure how much is left in my system."

… A crinkle of the nose. He'll have to burn the bin now, no matter that it's metal and a rubbish fire isn't going to be hot enough. Kanda checks Lavi's forehead; it's slick with sweat, but it seemed cooler than before. Poor boy, his fever must have broken while Kanda was away. No doubt the chicken soup played a pivotal role in Kanda's stead.

He's no genius, but Kanda knows things are going to be okay.

He's no genius. Lavi is pressing into his hand with what looked like suppressed desperation, and while Kanda is left to wonder if he'd be nursed back to health if he should ever fall ill, at least he's reassured by the knowledge that he, at least, could be a bit of a good guy.

Lavi's forehead is kissed, because Kanda still doesn't want to catch your disease, no matter how bad this romance of theirs get. Lavi shudders, for no reason associated with cold (but for reasons associated with warmth. This coat smells fantastic). "Y'look lovely, actually. All these layers? I'd so be into strippin' you silly if I wasn't currently sicker 'n a dog."

Ohoho. One for the books, then. Kanda will store this away in the little space he leaves in his mind for things unrelated to furious physical activity (swordplay and sex were under this category) and keeping him alive (eating, pissing, sleeping, that sort of thing). Lavi would like to be stripped at, che.

"There's carrot cake and kinky sex for you if you stop being a sicko in the next twenty four hours."

If ever encouragement alone would be sufficient for a full recovery, this is that encouragement.

Lavi laughs again, and with feigned reluctance Kanda climbs into bed, sweeping the used tissues into the soiled bin and doing his very very best to ignore both. Lavi's arms are out of commission, bound as they are within the downy confines of the jacket. It doesn't stop him from toppling himself over and onto Kanda's lap, burrowing in the heavy thickness of Kanda's horrendously out-of-fashion baggy corduroys. It's sweet, the faith with which Kanda had put on this outfit, though he cannot remember where he found half these ridiculous clothes. Kanda probably had on mismatching army combat boots, if his nightmare's anything to go by.

Wrapped up like a crazy patient, is Lavi. Kanda does as he's been wanting to, and rakes his hand through Autumn. Mmm. Crisp and smelling of vegetation, just as it should be.

"Just you stay right here, yeah? 'nd I'll stay right here, then we'll have carrot cake f'dinner, and I'll be right as rain f'some kinky sexin', lovey." Lavi smiles, with teeth.

"Che." Twinkle, twinkle, little teeth. How I wonder how you eat.

"Y'know, if I get an advance on that sexin', I might even get all good in half a day, yeah?"

… Why the fuck not. Kanda's probably all covered in germs now anyways. And really really really in the cold dark silence of where his heart would've been had he had one, Kanda can admit that Lavi is a damn sight better-looking than all the beautiful rivers and hills and sunsets and women and men in the whoooole entire world.

Kanda flicks the top button of Lavi's coat open. "Don't forget to call your mother."

* * *

><p>AN: Man, I am shite with summaries. For people who're still waiting astonishingly patiently for Environmentally Friendly; I swear it's getting done, ask Toss and everything. It'll be done before the year ends, I swear c: Just been busy with my life-gone-mental. Have a little bit somethin' something', written because of Kanda's glorious new appearance. Have a lovely day!


End file.
